


A Comedy of Ravnicans

by Consulardomino (orphan_account)



Category: Magic the Gathering
Genre: A rare smut-less story by me, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 04:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8830423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Consulardomino
Summary: A short comedy on Ravnica. I write it a few years ago. A rare non-erotica piece.





	

(Magic the Gathering, Ravnica, Azorius, Vedalkens, and The Dragon's Maze are all the property of Wizards of the Coast, a subsidiary of Hasbro Inc. The characters portrayed are my own creations, but their names might sound similar to those of you who more than dabble in nerd culture. I took some liberties with some of the cultural and infrastructure details of Ravnica. Please enjoy this fan fiction.)  
*  
The Azorius station house had been quite the whole day. Crime was down significantly following what was still being called "The Dragon's Maze," even after the truth of that incident had been disseminated. Arrester Damaq Jarrad pushed his stool back closer to the stone block wall reclined easily as he sipped his tea from a porcelain cup. Privately, he hoped these slow days would last. His superiors had all already left for the day, leaving only himself and that withered old lawmage Maggie Stritchritch to man the station. 'Old Mag' (as he and his fellow arresters called the lawmage when they were sure no one could hear them) was a humorless crone, but far too infirm to travel down the hard blocky stairs to make Damaq's life difficult. Thus, he was able to enjoy his tea without fear of the annoying demerits Old Mag would no doubt hand out if she caught a glimpse of his uniform.  
It wasn't that his uniform was dirty. He washed regularly enough. It wasn't missing any of the appropriate parts, either. Damaq inspected for that each day before leaving the small single room he rented above the Goresmeet Tavern one district over. It was just...the way he wore the uniform, he supposed. He could never figure out how some of the other Arresters kept their uniforms so flush and unwrinkled. His shirt tended to bunch up and clump together in odd or unflattering places. His helmet didn't precisely fit his head and would often droop unsymmetrically to the left just enough to be noticed. It wouldn't even stand up when he placed it on his desk, so he had to lay it on its side and place a rock inside to keep it from rolling off.  
As a result of his less than pristine appearance, Damaq regularly received demerits. Which translated into always "drawing the short straw" on things like who got to go home early on a slow day and who had to stay in the stationhouse and man the front desk. Damaq had been forced to stay behind nearly every day since the troubles between the Guilds had subsided. He'd even been compelled to come back into the station on days that should have been his to do with as he pleased.  
Damaq consequently felt no compunction whatsoever when he helped himself to Justicar Alluviel's personal tea leaves stash after the elf had left with the rest of the squadron. She always had a stick lodged somewhere uncomfortable anyway, Damaq equivocated privately. He had just retrieved a fresh cup, still piping hot, when the door burst open and the prevailing quiet was shattered.  
At first it seemed as if the door had swung violently open on its own. The oak door slammed against the stone wall startlingly loud. Damaq made his own loud noise once his brain registered the piping hot tea which was now scaling his chest through the spot on his shirt where he had spilled it. It was perhaps due to that commotion and the frantic business of trying to pull the stained portions of clothing away from his body which caused Damaq to initially miss the noise which followed. Once he caught it, he immediately identified the noise as wheezing.  
Damaq set the teacup down lightly on his saucer with only the slightest clink. He trained his eyes on the now open doorway, scanning for the source of the wheezing he could clearly hear getting closer. His trained mind immediately suspected some sort of spell since he could not locate the sound's source.  
"I must warn you," Damaq said in the most serious tone he could muster. He tried to appear as if he were puffing out his chest without actually doing so because the chest portion of his shirt was still covered in hot tea. "It is illegal to enter any Azorius Guild property whilst invisible."  
"Invisible? I'm down here" came a despondent raspy voice from somewhere below the desk. The wheezing now seemed to originate from down there as well. Damaq leaned over his desk cautiously, his free hand reaching for the club which hung from his belt. He was taken aback by what he saw.  
"You're not allowed to bleed on the floor either!" Damaq said to the goblin who stood hunched over gripping his side just below the ribs. Blood dripped between the shirt green creature's long pointed fingers onto the stone block floor of the stationhouse.  
"I've just been assaulted and I wish to file charges," declared the wounded goblin in his wheezing voice.  
"Ah," said Damaq. The Arrestor cleared his throat. He resumed his seat and plucked a quill from the jar of ink which lay on the desk. "Name?"  
"I didn't think to ask while he was roughing me up," replied the goblin.  
"No, I mean your name," said Damaq.  
"Wheezebag," said the goblin.  
"Aha. Makes sense," muttered Damaq as he wrote Wheezebag's name on an open parchment scroll.  
"What?" Said Wheezebag indignantly. "Why'd you say that for?"  
"Well, I just meant that it makes sense. Your name and that annoying sound you're making is all," said Damaq.  
"I was just gored!" exclaimed Wheezebag. "I've been assaulted! I'm not some second-rate children's toy!"  
"All right, all right," placated Damaq. "What can you tell me about your attacker?"  
"He was big. I mean huge! He was covered in white fur with strands as thick as straw. White as the driven snow. He had giant horns on his head, that's what he gored me with," said Wheezebag.  
"Right," said Damaq said seriously to indicate that he had heard enough. He set down the quill, stood, and marched towards the still open door. "I have enough to make an arrest, I'll be back soon!"  
"Wait," began Wheezebag, but he was interrupted by the broad oak door slamming shut. "Can't someone tend to my wound first?"  
A moment later the door swung back open and Damaq marched back inside the station house. Wheezebag's relief that perhaps he had been heard after all was short lived as he watched Damaq march right passed him and up the stone stairs at the far end of the room.  
Damaq climbed up the thin stairwell and then marched down the narrow hallway. He stopped in front of a door at the very end of that hallway, notable for the emblazoned image of the Azorius Guild symbol. Damaq used the iron ring just below his Guild's symbol to knock.  
"Lawmage Stritchritch," he called out. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then, the door slid open silently. Damaq stepped over the threshold.  
Inside was near and tidy, but very cramped. Every inch of each wall was covered in shelves which held various books and scrolls, the spells and tomes which Old Mag needed to do her job.  
The old crone herself looked somehow older than Damaq remembered her. It was as if each new writ she scribed took a toll on her body, but her iron will was to stubborn to surrender and die.  
"Three demerits for stained uniform," said Old Mag. Damaq grit his teeth and cursed himself silently.  
"I need to leave in pursuit of a crime. Assault," said Damaq. "Will you be all right on your own, Ol--er, Lawmage Stritchritch?"  
"Go," said Old Mag. Damaq turned on his heel and marched out. The door closed silently behind him.  
*  
Damaq Jarrad had gone through the same high intensity training as every other Arrester in the Azorius. He had been trained to spot lies and exaggerations. He knew victims tended to exaggerate the size of their attackers. It wasn't a criminal lie, but the effect of a wantonly untrained psyche. A small victim like the goblin Wheezebag was even more prone to give misleading information. To one of the goblin's stature, Damaq knew, everyone else was "huge." It was this combination of facts which led Damaq to interpret Wheezebag's statement as he went about his business. It wasn't long before he found what was in his own mind the most likely culprit. Damaq promptly arrested the creature and dragged it back to the stationhouse.  
*  
"That's not my attacker!" exclaimed the hysterical Wheezebag. "That's a mountain goat!"  
"Ah," said Damaq. For a brief moment, he thought silently. Then, "Well, Mr. 'Mountain Goat,' I suppose you're free to go."  
The goat slowly plod through the open door. Damaq turned to follow the creature.  
"You stay here," he said to Wheezebag. "Not much longer now I'm sure."  
Arrester Damaq again walked out. Not five minutes later, he marched back in, detainee in tow.  
"That's the same goat!" exclaimed Wheezebag. The goblin wrung one hand in exasperation. Damaq opened his mouth to reply, but before he could Wheezebag's eyes went wide and he pointed in Damaq's direction. "There he is!"  
"That's what I just--lawful Azor!" Damaq shouted, surprised. As he turned to where he expected to see just a goat, he now saw a burly white minotaur towering over Damaq's seemingly meager frame. The beast was at least twice as broad as Damaq. The smaller man swore the minotaur's biceps were bigger than his head. It was clearly male, Damaq regretted noticing. His horns were long, firm, and pointy.  
"Keep moving," the minotaur seemed to say without even opening his mouth.  
"You sound just like Justicar Alluviel," said Damaq, moderately stunned by the uncanny aural resemblance. Just then, Justicar Alluviel tilted her head sideways so that Damaq could see her standing behind the minotaur.  
"Damaq! Get out of the way! Two demerits!" said Alluviel. Damaq scurried out of the way as Alluviel marched forward, pushing the minotaur along with a compact silver wand. Her uniform was spotless. It complimented her perfectly symmetrical elven features.  
"Alright, Bamoth. You just sit tight for processing. Damaq, finish up with your perp and lend me a hand," ordered Alluviel.  
"He's not--" began Damaq, though he quickly found his voice overpowered by that of a hysterical goblin.  
"I'm not a perp! I'm a victim! That minotaur gored me!" shouted Wheezebag.  
"Well, looks like you really got the deck stacked against you today, Bamworth," said Alluviel. She circled around to the minotaur's front, keeping her wand aimed at him and high enough to be clearly visible. She was about to take another verbal jab at her prisoner when something blue caught her eye. The station house doorway, still wide open, was now filled with the tall thin stooping blue-skinned body of a Vedalken dressed as a shepherd. Like all of her race, the Venalken's face and voice seemed almost emotionless.  
"Justicar Alluviel, I am Wundalin the goat herder," said the Vedalken. "I'm afraid I must petition for sanction against Arrester Jarrad for the unlawful detaining of my goat."  
"Wha-" was all Damaq could manage.  
"Damaq!" said Alluviel, exasperated. "Seriously?"  
Distracted, Alluviel missed the key sign that all Azorius are taught to look out for when dealing with a minotaur who might attack at any moment. She missed the minotaur leaning his head forward suddenly. Luckily, she was not gored. Still, the hard round portion connecting his horns had enough force behind it to send Alluviel to the ground. The minotaur called Bully Bamworth wasted no time in darting for the yet still open door, toppling Wundalin on his way out.  
"After him!" Alluviel ordered Damaq. The Arrestor rushed to obey.  
"May I take my goat back?" asked Wundalin as the Vendalken got back up.  
"Yes, of course, fine," said Alluviel. "Come back first thing tomorrow and we'll deal with the other issue. You!"  
"What?" said a startled Wheezebag. He cowered under Alluviel's direct attention. Wundalin guided the goat out of the stationhouse in the meanwhile.  
"Go right up those stairs to the end of the hall. Find Lawmage Strichritch. She'll see to your wounds. I'd do it myself, but I think Bamworth might be beyond Damaq's ability," said Alluviel to Wheezebag.  
Wheezebag nodded his thanks and hobbled towards the stairs. Alluviel marched out the door double time.No sooner had her pursuit taken her to another street than Damaq returned to the stationhouse with his prisoner in tow.  
"Justicar Alluviel, I have the culpri--wait, it's that goat again...."

End.  
(Hope you enjoyed this story! The inspiration came from a game of Magic the Gathering I played against my friend in which the only target for my Azorius to arrest for several turns was an old school white-border mountain goat card.)


End file.
